


Wolf Girl

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Arya-centric, Assassin Arya, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fights, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Gratuitous Smut, Kidnapping, POV Arya Stark, Revenge, Romance, Violence, Violent Sex, arya badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-22 05:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13757001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Syrio tells Arya to run she refuses. An alternative timeline that goes from there. Arya is older and that in the TV show and gets in one or two naughty scrapes. But she seems to manage to get out of them with a little help from her friends.The characters and setting belong to Mr Martin not I.I hope you enjoy.Please comment as I love to here from people and it helps me keep going. I have quite a lot already written and some other stories coming so keep you eyes open





	1. One

“No, I  won’t run.” As Arya spoke Syrio’s wooden sword was cut into two. Taking a deep breath, she stepped up beside her instructor to face Ser Meryn Trant.

“Run girl run.”

“We can beat him,” Arya screamed before leaping forward and twisting her wooden sword around and bringing it against Meryn’s shoulder. The blade bounced off his metal armour. The impact shuddered through her whole arm, and it took all her effort to keep hold of her wooden sword. Using the distraction, Syrio rushed forward driving what was left of his sword towards the underside of Ser Trant’s helmet.

Meryn only just turned his head allowing his helmet to deflect the blow.

Arya swung again. This time going low as she tried to strike the back of the knee as she’d been taught in one lesson.

“Good girl. You are learning.” Syrio shouted as her blow struck home and for a moment Meryn’s leg dipped. But before either Syrio or Arya could react the armoured knight pivoted on his good leg and drove his blade forward into the dance masters belly.

“Noooo.” Arya swung again. Only for Meryn to grab her wooden blade with his left hand. She stepped back, trying to pull it free as Syrio slumped to the floor, but she wasn’t strongest enough.  “You monster.” Arya let go of the practise sword as Meryn pushed his blade deeper into Syrio’s body.

“Run girl, Run.”

Arya finally obeyed her former master as the last breath left his body. She backed away before turning to run out of the door.

Her way was blocked.

One of the guards who had been knocked to the floor by Syrio was up, and his bulk covered the exit from the room. Arya tried to duck beside him. A large blade appeared in front of her. She stopped and searched for another way. Dropping to the floor, she attempted to roll between his legs that were apart.

Something grabbed her from behind.

“Not so fast Stark.” Ser Trant had her firm hold of the back of her tunic as he hauled Arya to her feet. She tried to spin round and hit him with her fists, but each blow only bounced off his armour. “You’re coming with me.”

Arya was then lifted off the ground and carried down through corridors of the castle. There were King’s guards marching quickly from place to place. Some were escorted people Rya didn’t recognise while other looked set for a fight. There were the sounds of small skirmishes coming from elsewhere in the castle. The clash of swords and the screams of the dying.

“I demand to see my father. “ Arya spat at the knight.

“You father is a usurper and traitor.” Ser Trant said. “You will remain in your room until the fate of all the Stark’s has been decided.”

Try as Arya might to get away from Ser Trant she was unable to gain any purchase and soon found herself hurled into her room. As soon as the door was closed she rushed over to it, but her attempts to pull it open was thwarted.

It was locked.

Arya ran to the narrow window and leaned forward as far as she could. Far below, in the castle courtyard, she could see bodies lying on the floor. The sound of fighting was dying away

Back to the door, she banged on the wooden slats demanding to be let out. If there was anyone on the other side, they ignored her.

After hammering until her fists hurt Arya eventually gave up and collapsed sobbing onto the bed. She wondered if Sansa had been locked in her room also. And what had happened to her father? The image of Syrio being cut down came unbidden to her mind, and more tears flowed.


	2. Locked in

Something startled her.

Arya jumped from the bed an realised she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep. Her dreams had been haunted by Syrio’s death. Sometimes replacing him with her father. The door. Someone had just closed the door.

Sprinting across the room, she tried the door again, but it was still locked. Turning she saw there was a tankard and plate of bread on cheese on the small worktable she was supposed to practise her writing on. Arya realised she was thirsty and eagerly gulped down the water before breaking off a hunk of bread. She sat down seeing a scroll on the table next to the plate.

After reading it, she almost choked and taking the empty tankard ran back to the door and began striking the wood with the mug making even more of a noise. Did they expect her to sign the scroll? Did they expect her to condemn her own father?

 It seemed a long time before a guard she’d never seen before hauled open the door.

Arya launched herself between the guard and the door frame hoping to squeeze through the gap. The guard put his large leg in the way before grabbing her by the hair and shoving her back into the room. Arya tumbled onto the bearskin rugs adorning the floor and before she could recover the guard stooped over her and prised the tankard from her fingers.

“Noisy little thing aren’t you.” He then gave her a kick in the thighs before turning and marching out the door.

“You bully,” Arya called after him as the door slammed shut once more. Climbing to her feet she had an idea and made for the large chest next to her bed. Opening the lid revealed a jumble of clothes inside she’d refused to tidy. Arya paused for a moment and wondered what had happened to Septa Mordane. Maybe she was locked up with Sansa. For all the Septa annoyed her with her constant attention to neatness and acting like a lady Arya didn’t want to see her come to any harm.

Pushing the clothes aside Arya pulled Needle from it’s hiding place and unwrapped the leather skin that protected the blade.  Then she took a wooden stool that was beside the table her food and drink were on before carrying it over to the door. Holding Needle in one hand, she began smashing the seat against the wooden door

It opened a lot faster this time.

The guard was ready for her to charge at him but he wasn't prepared for the teenager to thrust forward and drive a blade into his side where the armour wasn’t offering any protection. Realising she’d stuck well Arya screamed and pushed Needle forward as the guard clutched the blade and slumped to the floor. Stepping back Arya allowed his body to crumple beside her but then found it was hard to free Needle from his flesh.

The guard groaned and grabbed her leg. Still holding onto the sword hilt Ayra jumped on his back and hauled Needle free, almost tumbling out into the corridor.

“Help.” The guard called out. Arya leapt away as he tried to kick at her with his legs. She was in the wide corridor outside her room. There was the sound of hurrying footsteps. Turning away from them she fled towards the stairs, taking them three at a time while still trying to work out what to do next.

It was too late to stop when Arya realised the Mountain was standing at the foot of the steps his massive body blocking the way.  Trying to arrest her descent Arya tripped and fell headlong into him. There was nothing she could do as he lifted her off the floor and relived her of Needle.

Saying nothing the Mountain turned, tucked the girl under his arm and strode off towards the main hall. As try as she might Arya could not wriggle from his grasp and every time she tried Mountain would squeeze her body as though letting her know he could squash her to nothing in an instant.


	3. Not conforming

“Arya my dear please do come in.” Cersei Lannister was smiling as the Mountain deposited Arya on the floor in front of the large desk Cersei was sat behind. “Any problems Ser Clegane?”

“She stabbed a guard with this.” The Mountain held up Needle.

“My you are a resourceful one.” Cersei maintained her smile. She was flanked by [Grand Maester Pycelle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Maester_Pycelle) and Littlefinger. Lord Varys was off to one side, and Arya noticed that the Mountain remained behind her. “A proper little wolf.”

“Where’s my father? Where’s Sansa?” Arya demanded.

“Your father is in the dungeons where he belongs.” Maester Pycelle said.

“Why? He’s done nothing wrong.”

“I’m afraid he’s proved a traitor.” Cersei face turned grave. “He tried to have King Joffrey arrested.”

“My father’s not a traitor. He’s more loyal than any of you Lannister’s.”

“Impertinent girl.” Maester Pycelle thundered. “She should be punished.”

Littlefinger shook his head. “Those words won’t help your father,” he said. “And your brother is marching to war as we speak. Bringing war to Westeros begs the question of who is the real traitor here.”

“Let my father go.” Arya stepped forward and banged her fist on the table. “Starks are not traitors.”

“Then you won’t mind signing the letter then,” Cersei’s smile returned. “Like your sister did.”

“What?” Arya knew of the letter. She’d read it in her room and knew it was a letter to Rob and the other northern kings that they should stop the war because Joffrey was the rightful king and her father was a traitor. Looking down at the desk she could see another copy of the letter with Sansa’s name scrawled on it.

“Your sister saw sense, Arya. She knew what was right.”

“No. Never.” Arya couldn’t believe her sister had signed it. How could she? How could Sansa call their father a traitor?

“You can help stop the war little wolf. Stop your brother being killed in battle. Stop your family name being destroyed. Think of the lives you will save.” It was Lord Varys who spoke. His smooth voice sounding convincing.

“Perhaps she is a traitor like her father.” Maester Pycelle sneered.

“She is just a child,” Varys said. “Not her fault she was born of a traitor.” The bald-headed man starred at Arya as though he was trying to tell her something.

“And so she will do the right thing now.” Cersei smile disgusted Arya. “These are some of the wisest men in Westeros. A young woman would do well to head them.”

“Never.” Arya looked around at them all and backed away until she hit the body of the Mountain behind her.

“She stabbed a guard.” Pycelle said.  “Perhaps a spell in the cells might help.”

“Or some more persuasion.” The Mountain once more took hold of Arya’s hair and forced her over so her head was right up against the paper.

“You see it would be so much easier if you would just sign little wolf.” Cersei was still sat upright keeping her calm demeanour. “People are tense after all that has happened. People have been hurt and all we want to do is restore order.”

“No fucking way.” Arya spat on the paper.

“They are not nice words for a lady.” Lord Varys shook his head.

“She is no Lady.” Maester Pycelle said. He stepped around the desk and freed needle from the Mountains grasp. “So this is what she used to stab the guard.” He swished it through the air. “Not very lady like.”

“Leave it alone.” Arya hissed. She tried to push away from the desk with her hands, but the Mountain kept her pressed down.

“More of a boy’s toy don’t you think,” Varys said nodding to Needle.

“Perhaps she should be treated more like a boy.” There was another swish of Needle through the air before Arya felt it strike her behind. The shock and force of the strike made her squeal. Maester Pycelle struck her again. Arya thrust her leg out and hit him on the thigh.

“Let's have less of that.”

The next thing Arya knew was her trousers and small clothes were ripped down her legs to her ankles exposing her bottom.

“Get off me you bastards.” She tried to kick out again but being held down, and her trousers wrapped around her ankles stopped any resitence.

Then another stroke across her buttocks by her own sword brought tears to her eyes. She looked up and saw Cersei was still smiling while Varys and bowed his head with his hands clasped before him. Three more strokes across different parts of her bare bottom had tears dropping on the desk instead of her spit.

“Perhaps that has helped make your decision.” Maester Pycelle said. “It looks very sore.” His hand rubbed one of her buttocks, and she felt like vomiting.

Cersei offered her the quill. “I think you should sign little wolf before Maester Pycelle enjoys himself too much.

“No,” Arya yelled throwing her pain onto her shout. She tried with all her might to push free of the Mountain. Two more strikes stopped her as they left her sobbing and gasping face down in front of Cersei.

“Perhaps she should have some more time to think,” Littlefinger said. “After all it has been a shocking time for us all.”

“I think that would be best.” Lord Varys said. “Perhaps if she is bathed and dressed like a lady then she may act more like one.”

“Still a traitor.” Pycelle went to strike again, but Cersei raised her hand.

“Enough. Varys is right. Ser Clegane take her to her quarters, and I’ll send some handmaidens to make her more presentable.

“I will make some ointment for her wounds to.” Pycelle pointed towards her bottom. “I’ll apply them myself.”

“Very well.” Cersei waved her hand dismissively.

Not allowing Arya to pull up her trousers the Mountain hoisted her over his shoulder and walked out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you are enjoying it so far. Please leave a comment :)


	4. Bad Maester

Soon after she’d been deposited in her room, the door opened and two handmaids Arya didn’t recognise dragged in a wooden bath and began to fill it using buckets of warm water they were hauling from the lower parts of the castle. They didn’t look too pleased to have to be doing this for Arya.

“You need to get undressed.” One of them, a red-head said in between carrying the buckets.

“I won’t.” Arya stood in the middle of the room fully dressed with her arms folded. She scowled each time the bath was topped up until both handmaids had finished and were waiting expectantly with cloths to clean her with.

“If you don’t get undressed then we’ll have to get the guards to do it.” The redhead said.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Arya shouted keeping her arms folded.

“My Lady you will be having a bath whether the guards hold you in there are not. I would suggest you make it easier for yourself.”

Arya kept scowling, but sense prevailed, and she reluctantly began to pull off her top. The other handmaid who seemed to be called Malina came over to help until Arya was naked and stepped into the bath.

As she was sitting down the door opened, and Maester Pycelle stepped through closing it behind him. The three women looked up at him.

“I’ve brought the ointment for her wounds.” He held up a small bowl while staring lasciviously at the naked teenager in the bath as Arya tried to cover herself. “Oh don’t mind me I’ll wait.”

Maester Pycelle moved to the side of the room and pulled out a stool before pushing it closer to the bath and sitting face Arya.

“Carry on.” He said.

The two handmaids looked at each other, shrugged and leaned over with cloths and soap to clean Arya’s body. She tried to sink as low as she could in the water covering herself. All the while she was conscious of the bearded man sat watching her. If she caught his eye, he smiled and pointedly looked towards her breasts. Was he going to put the ointment on her himself? Arya wanted the bath to last long enough for him to get tired waiting and go.

But Maester Pycelle seemed quite happy to wait as the handmaids washed and rinsed her hair. Arya then had to stand while the thick woollen towels were used to dry her body. She was guided out of the bath in front of the Maester who beckoned her closer. She grabbed one of the towels and held in front of her. The handmaids didn’t try to take it off her.

“You don’t need that.” It was Maester Pycelle who tore it from her grasp and tossed it on the floor.

“Turn around Lady Stark.” He said after drinking in her naked body. Arya did as she was told. As soon as she had her back to him she felt his hand on her bottom. She went to move off not wanting his old hands on her, but Malina held her in place by her arm.

“He’ll only call the guards.” She whispered, and as that would mean more men ogling her body, Arya thought it wise to stand still and think of how good it would be to kill him if she ever had the chance. While his hand rubbed some sticky fluid over her buttocks, often accompanied with a squeeze Arya thought that running a sword through his fat belly would be a good way to see him die.

“Twice a day for a week should see those wounds healed nicely.” Maester Pycelle rose from his stool after given her bottom a gentle slap. “Don’t worry I’ll do it myself.” He then patted her on the shoulder as he turned her around and gave her a wink. “Just to make sure.” After another long look at her body, the old Maester shuffled out of the door.

Arya shivered.

“Now we need to get you dressed for the feast like a proper lady.”

Arya looked to see the red-haired handmaid was holding up a long pale blue dress like the ones Sansa wore. She really did want to be sick.


	5. Sansa Pleading

Arya didn’t want to eat any of the food on her plate after seeing what they had done to the poor Minstrel. While his singing hadn’t been the greatest, Arya was aghast at what Joffrey had done to him.  While the screaming man’s back had been turned to Arya as they had ripped out his tongue, it had been enough knowing exactly what they were doing. She’d seen Sansa grow pale across the hall.

Arya hadn’t talked to Sansa since seeing she’d signed the letter and wasn’t sure if she wanted to. While happy her sister was alive, Arya was livid Sansa had betrayed the whole family. Even after another beating from the old bastard of a Maester Arya had refused to give in. It hurt her to sit on the wooden chairs, The Maester having taken her cushion away, but she refused to let it show.

The barely conscious singer was hauled away, and his blood was soaked up by waiting women before dancers entertained the crowd for a short while. Though it looked to Arya as though King Joffrey was getting bored with the all the entertainment. She shuddered to think what might happen to the entertainers if he wasn’t pleased.

The top table had Maester Pycelle sat in-between Lord Varys, and Littlefinger and Arya was certain the Maester kept looking at her. The noblewoman sat beside Arya nudged her to keep eating so as not to draw attention to herself. Arya downed another goblet of wine first to dull her thoughts and drown out the intense itching where the dress touched her skin.

Sat on the other side was lesser Lord who seemed to delight in everything Joffrey was saying like some weasel. He’d tried to ask Arya a lot of questions, but she’d ignored them all.

As they finished the main course and desserts were served, there were representations from other Lords from Westeros praising the new kings, and some offering gifts. Arya heard honours being handed out to some people who stepped before the King, while others were stripped of their rank for not showing enough loyalty.

It looked as though it was going to be over when Lord Varys asked if there were any more people to be heard. Sansa rose and asked to speak. Her presence and status were acknowledged, and she stepped down onto the floor before King’s table. While Arya was still angry with her sister, she was curious as to what she was doing.

“Please your grace.” Sansa gave her deep bow. Her dress was a similar colour blue to Arya’s but far more elegant, and Sansa looked as if she was born to wear it. “I’ve come to beg mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark. He has served the crown well and only thought he was doing what was right.”

“He was a traitor Little Dove,” Cersei said from her position next to King Joffrey.

“He conspired against the rightful king.” Maester Pycelle added.

“Wait I will listen to her.” Joffrey held up his hand to silence the others. “Why should I not kill your father? And all other Starks for that matter.” Arya saw him look across at her. At that moment her wine goblet was refilled, and she took another long drink. Her head was starting to feel funny but it at least it kept her from charging across the room and attacking Joffrey and his evil mother.

“Please, we are a good family and have always supported the king. My father was trying to do what he thought was the right thing. If he was wrong, then it was out of love for the crown. I beg mercy for his life, so he can continue to serve the crown as he as always done.” Sansa bowed low, and all eyes turned to King Joffrey.

“He is a traitor and should be treated as such.” Maester Pycelle said with contempt. Arya gave him a cold hard stare.

“But as Lady Sansa says he has served the crown well. He could still serve the crown at Castle Black. The knight’s watch always needs good men.” It was Lord Baelish who spoke. Flashing a smile at Sansa. While Arya didn’t like the slimy man, she was grateful for his words of support.

“The eloquence of your speech has moved me, Lady Sansa.” There was a look of hope on Sansa’s face. Even Arya’s heart leapt at the thought of mercy for their father. “Lord Eddard will be spared and may take the Black. But only if he confesses to his treason. He must confess to his crimes first my lady. Do you think you can convince that is the right thing to do?”

“I will try your highness.” Sansa bowed low.

“No!” Arya jumped up from her chair. “My father is no traitor. He will never confess.”

“Ah, Lady Arya.” There was a smirk on Joffrey’s face. “I see you have worn a dress for the occasion. How Lovely.”

Arya wanted to hurl her wine cup at the smug faced bastard, but she could already see the guard in the room were attentive to her every move.

“Arya please be quiet.” Sansa remonstrated.

“You be quiet you bitch,” Arya shouted. “Father is not a traitor, and you know it. How can you tell him to confess?”

“I’m trying to save his life, you stupid little girl.” Sansa rose from her the ground moved near the table where Arya was sat. Her face was red with anger.

“I know father, he’ll never to confess. He’s no traitor.” Arya scooped up a handful of her cake and cream from her plate and hurled them across the table. There was a roar of laughter from the guests as it hit Sansa’s face.

“It seems the Stark ladies disagree,” Cersei had an amused look on her face.

“Maybe we should have them fight out their differences for our entertainment.” Joffrey looked excited at the prospect. Arya was horrified while Sansa stood still; staring at her sister with a look of disappointment and contempt. “It can only be better than the dross that we’ve seen so far.”

“It certainly looks like Lady Arya has not learnt her lesson.” Maester Pycelle said.

“She is still young, and I think has been drinking,” Cersei said. “Haven’t you little wolf?”

Arya nodded not knowing what else to do.

“Perhaps the wine has gone to her head. Ser Meryn, please escort Lady Arya to her quarters before she ruins any more of this fine food.”

Joffrey looked as if he were about to object, but Cersei placed her hand his arm and whispered into his ear.

Arya didn’t resist being marched from the room. But she couldn’t look her sister in the eye.


	6. A head will roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a pleasant time for Arya and Sansa. 
> 
> A disclaimer that all works belong to George Martin as there is dialogue lifted as it crosses the actual timeline

It was horrible the way the crowd shouted obscenities at her. Arya had been led onto the platform behind her sister, and the people that had gathered screamed that the Starks were traitors and spat at the two girls. Arya couldn’t understand it. Did they love Joffrey and the Lannisters so much? What had Sansa and Arya done to them?

Arya hadn’t had the chance to speak to her sister since hurling her dinner at her the night before. After being dumped back into her room and going to bed, she’d had a visit from Maester Pycelle to administer more of the ointment. She’d tried to curl herself up in the covers, so he couldn’t get near her but all he’d done was call the guards. They’d held her down and exposed her backside to the Maester. All accompanied by lewd comments. That morning she had just did as she was told when the Maester came so as not to give the guards any pleasure.

Lunch had been served to her room after which the handmaids helped her back into the dress, and then she had been escorted into the platform. Sansa still didn’t speak to her when they were sat next to each other facing the baying crowd.

Arya knew why they were there. The executioner's block was in front of them and the execution, Ser Ilyn Payne, was stood next to it holding the huge axe as he looked out at the sea of angry faces. His face was covered with a crude leather mask, but his upper body was bare revealing a criss-cross of scars. He was taunting the crowd. Threatening any who got too near with the axe. At one point, Arya was convinced he’d chopped the hand off one unfortunate man who’d placed it on the wooden stage.

There was incense burning on the platform which made Arya’s eyes stream. Occasionally someone would waft it around the front near the crowd. She understood why after being close to those that had gathered to watch the afternoons events. The stench of unwashed bodies pressed close together had been dreadful. Despite her stinging eyes, she was glad of the strong smoky smell.

The Lannister’s and their lackeys joined them on the platform. Joffrey had taken the highest seat and his mother next to him. A short while later Arya tensed as the crowd roared its disapproval and her father came into view. She glanced at Sana who was also craning her neck to see the best she could of their father. And while Arya’s heart was lifted by seeing him, the pale, haggard state of Lord Stark made her despair. He shambled forward, pushed by the Mountain, but struggled to walk with the shackles around his arms and legs.

“Oh, father.” Sansa let out a gasp and Arya her saw her begin to weep.

Arya was desperate to jump up and run to her father. To throw her arms around him and have him take her away from the horror. As though reading her thoughts the Hound stood in the way. Soon enough her father was positioned next to Ilyn Pane.

King Joffrey rose from his chair and stood in front of the crowd. Arya saw that most they were supporting him, but there were those who shook their heads at the golden-haired boy who was now their leader.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself Lord Eddard,” Joffrey said.

“I have come before you to confess my treason in sight of gods and men. I betrayed my friend Robert Baratheon. I swore to protect his blood and children but before his blood was cold. I plotted to murder his son and seizer the throne for myself.”

The crowd began to shout abuse at Arya’s father, but she wanted to rise. Her father hadn’t done those things she knew that. Arya felt her sister's hand on her arm and looking round saw Sansa shake her head. There was nothing she could do with those on the platform. Arya knew that. Someone in the crowd hurled something that hit her father on the side of the head. He flinched but then stood upright.

Arya wanted to run and hug him. Arya wanted to be back in Winterfell wrapped in his arms as he told a story of the long winters in the past.

“Let the high Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say. Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the iron throne by the grace of all the gods of the seven kingdoms and the protector of the realm.”

“As we sin so do we suffer.” Maester Pycelle was now beside her father. “This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men. The gods are just, but the blessed Baelor told us they can also be merciful.” He turned to face Joffrey. “What is to be done with this traitor your grace?”

The crowd were calling for blood. Arya could see their desire for violence etched on their faces, and it made her sick. This was her father who only ever wanted to treat the people well.

Joffrey raised his arm to quit the crowd. “My mother wishes me to allow Lord Eddard to join the nights watch, stripped of all titles and powers he would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady Sansa had begged mercy for her father. But they have the soft hearts of women and so long as I am King treason will never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn. Bring me his head.”


	7. Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short scene as she tries to recover from what she has seen.

Despite the fact they kept bringing food to her Arya had hardly eaten a thing. For the rest of the day after she’d seen her father beheaded Arya had curled upon her bed sobbing. That was after she’d been once more carried and dumped in her quarters by the mountain after going wild on the platform. At first, she’d run towards her father before hurling herself at Ilyn Payne. The executioner had been so surprised at her assault she nearly toppled him into the crowd. It was the Mountain who scooped her up before Cersei ordered her taken to her room.

Arya also heard the instruction to Maester Pycelle that he should administer more punishment to see if they could extract some obedience from the young wolf. She’d tried to bite the Mountain and kicked and fought all the way back to her room, but it was all in vain as she was thrown onto the floor. The Mountain then stood in the doorway and ordered Arya to remove her dress. She threw herself at him but was struck down by the back of his hand hitting her face. Dazed, her legs gave way and she crumpled to the carpet.

Her head was still swimming when she thought she saw Needle hovering in the air in front of her. Arya reached out trying to snatch it before realising she was leaning across the chest in her room and the blurred figure of Maester Pycelle was in front of her. She could hear his mocking voice, smell his rotten odour and wanted to scream at him what a pig he was. Trying to get purchase with her feet the giant hand of the Mountain held her fast.

Cold air blew against her behind, and Arya realised it had been exposed. Maester Pycelle muttered about obedience before intense pain shot across her bottom and pierced the gloom in her mind. Biting down on her teeth she tried not to give him the satisfaction of crying, but the sick old bastard was going to have his day. Eventually, the pain was too much for her to withstand and the vision of her father kept coming to her. Tears flowed freely, and Arya cried out in anguish as much as with the breaking of her heart over her father as with Maester Pycelle’s beating.

When it was over Arya didn’t resist as she was dragged to her bed and laid out for the cream to be administered to her bottom and the back of legs. She didn’t even try to cover herself when they left. Neither did she resist over the next few days when they would come to her room. If it was Maester Pycelle, she numbly positioned herself so he could lay his hands on her. Or if it were the handmaidens she would undress and bathe as ordered. She would even eat the food they brought if she was told to.

Arya wouldn’t speak to them. Arya wouldn’t cry anymore.

All the while in her head she was going over the same thing again and again.

“Maester Pycelle, Cersei, Joffrey, Ilyn Payne, the Hound, the Mountain, Ser Trant.”


	8. Nasty Joffrey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Joffrey likes to play his wicked games. Sansa and Arya become part of them.
> 
> Please if you are enjoying the story then leave a comment or hit the Kudos button.
> 
> If you are not enjoying it then still leave a comment to tell me why.?
> 
> In short just leave a comment!! I get sad without them :(

Arya jaw dropped in horror at the scene in the great hall. A man was lying on the floor. Blood poured from a gaping in in his shoulder and pooled in the cracks between the stone slabs. He wasn’t dead. Face down he spluttered and coughed dark red blood in between pleading for mercy. Ser Trant was stood over him laughing.

In the centre of the room, Joffrey was parading with a crossbow over his shoulder. There was an evil glint in his eye and a manic grin. Arya knew it wasn’t a good sign.

Worst of all were the sobs coming from Sansa. Arya’s sister was against a table that had been pushed into a position, so she was flat against the wooden surface. The braids of her red hair had been spread and pinned above her head. Six of them fanned out on the wooden slats. Two throwing knives were embedded in the wood beside her. One was hanging from her shoulder. Blood stained her blue dress.

Arya tried to run to her sister. The Mountain, who had dragged her here, held the younger Stark back.

“Ah, the little sister.” Joffrey marched over to Arya. “We were just discussing the news about your traitorous family. The news your brother Rob has captured Jamie. What do you think about that?”

“Good.” Arya spat. “I hope they kill him.”

“I see Maester Pycelle’s punishment is not proving effective.” Joffrey shook his head. “We will have to address that. Sansa here had volunteered to work with this knife thrower. He pointed to the man on the ground. “But as you can see he proved very clumsy and I couldn’t have anyone hurting my possible future wife. I was going to do it myself.”  Joffrey lifted the Crossbow off his shoulder and pointed it at Sansa. “But then I remembered how good you were with a bow. So, I thought you could show us all your skill.”

Arya looked round. There were only a handful of people in the hall, all Joffrey’s men and not even Cercei to plead to so she could get Joffrey to see sense. Another soldier stepped up and presented a bow to Arya.

She shook her head. “I won’t do it.”

“Disappointing.” Joffrey smiled before he strode over to another table where a servant poured him wine. With the crossbow back resting on his shoulder, the King drained the goblet. It means I’ll have to do it and I have drunk rather a lot.” He feigned a stumble, and the others laughed. “I’m not sure my shots will be better than the knife throwers.”

Arya’s heart sank. She looked at the bow and then at her poor sobbing sister. As much as he hated Sansa for signing the letter and calling their father a traitor she didn’t want to see her hurt.

“I’ll do it,” Arya said.

“Oh, Bravo.” Joffrey grinned and walked back over. “Don’t try and get any funny ideas about who you shoot.” He leaned into her until his lips were right up against her ear. Or I’ll let the whole of the King’s guard fuck you both.” He stepped back. “Hand her the bow.”

Arya took the bow and arrow as she tried to shuffle to top of the dress to allow her to stretch her arms more freely. Turning she took aim at the lowest of the braid. Controlling her breathing, she let the arrow fly.

“A miss,” Joffrey said. Having tried to make sure she didn’t hit her sister Arya had pushed the arrow to the edge of the table.

“A practise shot.” Ser Meryn Trant said. The others laughed. Arya noticed the Hound shook his head and looked down.

“Yes, a practise shot.” Joffrey agreed. “Again.”

Arya took the next arrow and adjusted her aim. The first shot had given her a degree of knowledge on how taut and accurate the bow was. She pulled back, hesitated for just a moment and let loose.

“Oo much closer,” Joffrey shouted. The arrow had missed the braid. Landing just above it. “Maybe the dress is restricting you. Ser Gregor. Unburden her of the problem.”

The bow was snatched from her hand as she felt the back her dress ripped open. The top was then hauled down to her waist exposing her to the rest of the onlookers before she was handed back the bow. She ignored the jeers and whistles, and she took up the next arrow. With her arms now unrestricted Arya’s next shot was true.

“Oh, that was good,” Joffrey called out as the braid was split. Sansa was still wracked with sobs, and Arya hoped she could hold still. “Keep it up.”

Taking a deep breath, Arya took the arrows that were handed to her, and each one found its mark. The braids were broken until it left only the upper one, the shortest of them all, pinning her sister to the boards. Arya had deliberately left it knowing it was the hardest shot.

“Keep still Sansa.” She admonished her sister who kept moving her head.

“Wait this has been too easy.” Joffrey moved close to Arya. “Perhaps we should see how you perform with a little distraction.”

As Arya took aim, his hand reached around taking hold of one of her breasts before pinching her nipple. She jumped, the bow slipped, and she had to stop herself loosing what would have been a dangerous arrow.

“Not so easy now is it.” He pinched again, and Arya grimaced trying to take aim once more.

“What the hell is going on here.” Tyrion Lannister stormed into the hall with his swordsman Bronn beside him. The small man looked around and saw Sansa strapped against the table. “Good heavens boy are you out of our mind. Your Uncle is captured, and you torture the very things we have to trade with.”

“I’m teaching them a lesson about respect.” Joffrey let go of Arya and stomped across the stone floor.

“You idiot,” Tyrion said. “Kills the Stark girls and you as good as sentence Jamie’s to death. No wonder father sent me here. While he fights for your kingdom, you are torturing girls.”

“Don’t speak to me like that.” Joffrey raised himself up in height. “I’m the King.”

“You are a bloody fool.” Tyrion reached up and slapped Joffrey across the face with his glove.” Untie Sansa for god’s sake and let's find your mother.”


	9. Heads on Spikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little trip to see some heads on spikes. Nothing interesting could happen here could it?

The atmosphere in the castle had been strange since Tyrion had broken up Joffrey’s little game. Arya had been allowed out of her room to go to the gardens. The punishments and creams from Maester Pycelle had stopped. She was guarded mainly by the Hound now. He warned her to do as she was told and not run off. She’d tried the first time of course, but the Hound had lifted her from her feet and pinned her against the castle wall before telling her he was probably the other thing between her and Joffrey, so she better do as he said.

Arya was puzzled as to why he would say that.

It was three days after the incident with the bow when she was summoned to a part of the castle she’d never explored before. Sansa was there, once more wearing a perfectly fitting dress in blue while Arya still had an itchy grey dress. As they walked along the wall with the Hound, Ser Meryn Trant and a few more guards, Joffrey joined them. Seemingly enjoying the view as he looked out over the castle and the city.

“Ah, the Stark sisters.” He moved to meet them. Kissing them both lightly on their cheeks. Arya wanted to be sick. “My brother and mother have told me I should apologise for the treatment you have received.” He tried a magnanimous smile. It just made the King look even creepier. “Such a powerful house in the north they say, and it should not have his ladies treated in such a manner.”

He motioned them with his arms to walk along the ramparts on the open side. They could see over part of the city. Arya thought she could smell it. I reminded her of when father was killed.

“So I offer my humblest apologies and thought it would be nice to take a walk together. After all, it is such a beautiful day.”

The moved along the rampart under the morning sun, but Arya didn’t feel comfortable. There was something wrong. Something not right about Joffrey’s actions.

“Of course one of the great things about being able to walk this way is being able to see the latest heads on spikes that overlook the city. Come let’s see any new additions.”

As the King hurried on ahead of them, Arya felt a tingle down her body. She stopped but was pushed on by the Hound. Beside her, Sansa kept on walking a stone-faced expression on her face. She hadn’t said anything since they started the walk and it was the first time they had seen each other since the hall. To Arya, her sister's eyes looked haunted, as though the essence of Sansa was hidden away inside her head. Hidden from the world.

“Oh look it does seem we have a new head,” Joffrey said gleefully as they approached him. “I like to call this part traitors row.” He pointed, and Arya looked before she could stop herself.

“Father, no.” The words were ripped from her lips. Beside her, Sansa slumped to the floor. Arya could see Joffrey’s grinning head dancing in the air next to her fathers. She saw the rotting flesh, the eyes pecked out, lips torn off and parts consumed by maggots. The man who had held her in his arms so many times was gone.

“Looks good here, doesn’t it. Though he does look a little sad.”

A rage-filled Arya like never before. A strength surged up inside her as Joffrey’s face continued to dance in front of her as he tried to pull the same expression as her father.

“Noo!” She screamed with animal ferocity, and her lurch forward was so sudden and violent the Hound and Mountain were unable to stop her. Joffrey had stepped onto the bridge leading across to part of the walled city. Something that, despite Arya’s clouded mind, hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The King realised her intention when it was too late. As the teenage Stark struck him, Joffrey desperately tried to keep his balance. The back of his calves hit the low wall on the edge of the bridge.

He fell.

Arya saw everything in slow motion. Joffrey reached out, trying to grab her, but he was already too far gone. A low cry emitted from his mouth and his expression changed to one of horror as he hurtled down to the street below. Arya sensed movement behind her. She spun around and ducked low just as Ser Meryn Trant was racing to try and save his king. Unable to arrest his momentum the knight clattered into Arya, tipping him forward. There was another cry as the weight of his armour meant there was no chance he could regain his balance.

The knight followed his king. Crashing into the street below. Adding to the blood and gore.

Arya heard a voice behind her. It was the Hound.

“Oh fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joffrey goes splat. I found that very satisfying so I hope you did to. 
> 
> Please leave a comment to let me know if that was a good way for him to go.


	10. The Cells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the chaos of the previous scene things need to calm down a little. But things aren't going too well for the wolf.

The chaos which ensued following the king's death saw Arya carted down to the dungeons by the Hound. Cersei had arrived on the ramparts and screamed in horror at the sight of her son splattered on the ground below. She demanded to know what happened, but no one answered at first. As Tyrion arrived to be as equally horrified the Mountain pointed at Arya.

 It was the Hound who saved Arya from an instant death. While Cersei demanded retribution, the Hound stepped between her and the Mountain saying it might have been an accident. Tyrion had seized on the opportunity and likened it to Brann falling at Winterfell. A statement that only enraged Cersei further and while they tore at each other with arguments the Hound had picked up Arya and began marched her to the dungeon as Tyrion had ordered.

She was still in shock as they passed through the passageways and tunnels of the castle. Arya didn’t really understand what was happening until one of the jailers shoved her into a cell and locked the iron gate behind her.

The cell was about six feet by six with nothing but a chamber pot in the corner. It was effectively a cage attached to other cages beside and behind her. All three of the others were occupied. Two of the prisoner took an instant interest.

“Well now here’s something you don’t see every day.” The one to her left said. “Hey Biter. It looks like we have ourselves a Lady.”

Arya backed away from the man who pushed his head right up against the bars. The movement pushed her against the opposite cell. There was a hiss, and she felt a hand coil her around the neck. She grabbed the arm and tried to pull away as another hand grabbed her chest.

“Biter likes em fresh and tender.” The other prisoner laughed.

“Leave her.” The jailer who had just locked Arya in the cage smashed the bars to Biter’s cage with a wooden staff. As Biter didn't let go that escalated into ramming the staff into the prisoner's side. Arya pulled away from the grip and placed herself in the centre of the cell.

“Biter don’t say much.” The other prisoner said. He offered his hand through the bars. “I’m Rorge by the way. Our other friend stays pretty quiet too.” He nodded over to the cage behind Arya’s where a man was sat in the centre of the cell watching. His cowl was over his head, but even so, Arya thought she could still see his piercing eyes.

With Arya ignoring his hand Rorge pulled it back into his cage. “Only trying to be friendly.” He said shaking his head. “The Jailers aren’t always about. It might be good to have a friend. What you in here for anyway. They never put ladies in the Black cell’s. You’d probably have to kill a king to do that.”

Arya looked away and swallowed as Rorge chuckled to himself. As she faced the mysterious man, she noticed he leant forward for an instant as if listening. The flickering torchlight that provided a modicum of light for the guards glinted off the man's long thin face. Then it vanished as he resumed his posture.

“Biter has just been fed so you should be okay for a while,” Rorge said. But if you come over on this side I can always look after you.” He cupped his groin and thrust it towards her. Arya sat in the middle of the cage and faced the door, so she didn’t have to look at anyone. Rorge kept on talking, but she ignored him as the tears flowed down her face. Surely they were going to kill her. Her head would probably end up on a spike next to her fathers. Sansa’s too if Cersei had her way.

But she didn’t regret killing Joffrey. As she closed her eyes, Arya could see the horrified look on the king's face as he realised he was plunging to his death. It gave her some comfort.


	11. Friend or Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for those who have commented so far. I really do like to hear from you.
> 
> In the cells what can Arya do?

“A girl must be careful in here. This is no place for the soft.” It was the man in the third cage who spoke. He was still in the centre of his cell, sat cross-legged. At least he offered no threats, and his voice was calm and almost that of a nobleman. He called himself Jaqen, telling her he came for Lorath.

“It’s not like I want to be here,” Arya grumbled. No-one had come to see her. There had been jibes from the jailers about what she’d done. That she was a kingslayer. Though it appeared the official story was that King Joffrey had tripped and fallen. “But I did push him. He deserved it.”

“And you don’t think you deserve to be here?”

“He had my father killed. My father wasn’t a traitor.”

Rorge and Biter were asleep. The only sleep Arya had managed was curled up on the cold floor in the middle of the cell. Even then she had to endure Biter grunting and reaching for her. She hadn’t eaten the food she’d been brought. Not after she’d tried to gulp down the water, they’d brought her to find the Jailers had pissed in the cup. They’d laughed at her. Telling her they’d always wanted to see a Lady drink piss. One of the Jailers, who looked like his nose had been splattered across his face in one too many brawls, had offered her a proper drink if she sucked on his cock. She’d turned away and tried to hide her tears. If they were going to kill her, then they should get on with it.

“One king or another. What difference does it make?” Jaqen shrugged.

“Joffrey was an evil king.”

“Are there any good kings?”  Jaqen responded. “Did not your father help King Robert gain the crown at the cost of thousands of lives. What made your father so right?”

“I don’t know.” Arya shook her head trying to clear any dark thoughts about her father.  “He wasn’t cruel like Joffrey. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jaqen chuckled.

“You think it’s fun being in here?” Arya said. “Knowing you are going to die.

“We are all going to die lovely girl. From the lowest born to the noblest king. It is just a matter of when.”

“But there are still people I wanted to kill,” Arya muttered. She’d resigned herself to her father’s fate.

“Then always keep your eyes out for opportunities.”

“We can’t escape from here.” Arya reached and grabbed a thick metal bar. “And even if we did the guards would catch us.”

“Indeed, it’s a shame a girl does not know of any secret ways out of the dungeons. Maybe she should have used her time exploring the castle more wisely.”

“I do know a way,” Arya said brightly as she remembered the time she’d chased the cat. She shuffled towards the back of her cage and whispered in a low tone. “On the way into the dungeons, some passages lead to chambers below where I saw great dragon skulls. I found a way out of there that lead to the sewers outside the walls.”

“So you see lovely girl there is a way out.”

“But we are stuck in here.” Arya pulled on the cage again.

“Opportunities sometimes present themselves.”

“Lady Stark have you a moment.”

Startled, Arya turned to see Lord Tyrion stood outside her cell. He was wearing a thick cloak, but his dwarfish features were unmistakable.


	12. Offer of Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An offer of help from an unexpected quarter.
> 
> Thank you for the comments and Kudos so far. Please keep them coming as I love to know what people think.

“Why is it you Starks are so foolish.” Tyrion Lannister spoke in a low voice. The Jailers were still at the table where they spend most of their time at when it was their shift, but they were watching the dwarf.

“He put my father’s head on a spike.” Arya tried to sound defiant.

“And your father would have brought civil war to Westeros. Instead, it's your brother Rob doing that now.”

“Is he still winning?” There was always a faint hope her brother would make it through and take King’s Landing before they killed her.

“The war goes on.” Was all Tyrion said.

“Then why are you here. Another Lannister to gloat at locked up girls. Why don’t you let me out and I’ll show you what the Starks can do.”

Tyrion chuckled. “I think you’ve already demonstrated what you can do my Lady.” He said. “And you perhaps spared Westeros a King as bad as a Targaryen. Tommen at least might make a decent leader. If Cersei lets him be.”

“And is my head to be on a spike.” While she tried to sound brave, Arya swallowed as she spoke.

“There will be a trial, and you will be found guilty, but your fate after that has not been decided. Some of us are trying to persuade Cersei that beheading a teenage girl in front of the people might not a good way for King Tommen to start his reign. And should he do so then my brother will be no doubt suffer the same fate.”

“But you’ll have Sansa. She didn’t do anything but faint.”

Tyrion shrugged. “With only her own men as witnesses then Cersei can concoct the story of her choosing.”

“That’s not fair. Sansa did nothing.” Arya couldn’t bear to think her sister would come to harm because of something’s she’d done.

“Fairness doesn’t come into it Lady Stark. Only winning.”

“Then you want me to beg for my life like father did?”

“I think you wise enough to know the futility of that action.” Tyrion stole a look round his shoulder towards the Jailers. They’d seemed to have lost interest. Concentrating instead on some sort of dice game and a jug of drink. “I want you to escape and go to your brother. I want him to know that we are prepared to sue for peace.”

“Escape?” Arya was confused.

“I brought the Jailers a drop or two of wine laced with something that will have them nicely sleeping a short time after I have gone. I’m sure you might be able to gain some help from your new friends and get out of the castle and city before morning.” Tyrion leant forward. “Tell Rob that we helped you escape from Cersei’s grasp and there are those who want the war to be over. Tommen can be a good King if given a chance. You could save thousands of lives here Arya. Not just yours.”

“Why would he listen to me?” Arya said. “How would I find the way?”

“A guide will be provided outside the city. He’ll come to you. A good man in my pay. If your brother doesn’t listen to you then your mother will. Cersei will still have Sansa. It would be a fair exchange for Jamie.”

The thought of seeing her mother lifted her heart. “Can you get me the keys to get out of here.” She pulled on the door.

“I will need to be long gone Lady Stark. But these bars were made to keep in oafs like him.” Tyrion jerked his thumb in Biter’s direction. “Not waif’s like you, and I suspect not all the bars are evenly spread. Think on it. Now I must go. When the Jailers sleep, then you will have your chance if you want to take it.”

“But I don’t know. Wait.” Tyrion hushed her lips before he turned and strode away.

Arya heard him give a greeting to the Jailers who toasted him with their drinks. Then the dwarf was gone leaving her lost and confused. Had he given her way out? Had he given her hope?

“Looks like you’re a goddess sent to save us.” Rorge climbed to his feet and moved over to the bars. “Got a way out of here have you.”

“But we can’t get out of the cells.”

“Did he not tell you lovely girl.” Jaqen was also stood in his cell. His hood was down and in the flickering light, she could see his slender face framed by hair that fell down both sides on both sides. White on one, red on the other. “Not all cages are made the same.”

Arya looked at the half-rusted bars in front of her before pulling on each of them hoping one would be loose. She thought about what Tyrion said and realised if they could be genuinely pulled away or bent out of shape then any of the prisoners would be able to get out.

But she was small. She was thin. She could sneak into places where soldiers, jailers and guards couldn’t reach her.


	13. Prison Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a little help from her friends its time for Arya to leave those nasty cells.

“The gaps aren’t wide enough.” Arya groaned after she tried to slide through each of the ones at the front. The Jailers were passed out. Sprawled across the table and snoring loudly.

“Don’t always think of the obvious.” While Rorge and Biter were grumbling and urging her to get on with it and let them out, Jaqen remained calm with his words.

“What do you mean?” Arya moved to the back of her cage to confront him. He merely nodded towards the side of the cage where Rorge was clinging to the bars cursing her for not getting a move on. She looked at two of the metal bars he was holding onto and understood what Jaqen meant. But it meant squeezing into the ugly thug’s cage. Not something she wanted to do.

Realising there was no other choice she examined all the gaps and realised there was one wider than the others.

“Is there a way out for me from your cell?” She said not wanting to commit herself if there was no way to go any further. Being trapped in a cell with a man like him would probably not be a wise move.  Rorge understood her meaning and moved to examine the rest of the cage.

He returned with a smile on his face. “Near the wall.”

“Okay here goes.” Arya moved between the two widest bars between her cell and Rorge’s and started to squeeze her body through. But as try as she might the fullest part of her body wouldn’t slip through. Rorge grabbed her arm from his side and started to haul at her, but it was to no avail. She had to shout for him to stop before she then fell back into her own cell.

“There  has to be another one.” She panted.

“You were almost through.” Rorge hissed, and she could hear Biter moaning behind her.

“Any more bright ideas?” Arya looked at Jaqen.

“I have, but a girl might not approve.”

She glared at him for once more being obtuse. Then his words meant something to her.

“No way.” She said looking back at the bars. But it had been close, very close.

Jaqen raised his eyebrows.

“You all need to close your eyes.”  She tried to use a hostile tone as she started pulling at the ties to her dress. Rorge’s face widened as she did so. She glared at him, and he closed his eyes before turning away. “You too Biter if you want out of here.”

The man’s face dropped, but he did as he was told.

Arya shook off the dress and stepped out of it leaving her naked. She moved back to the bars and tried again. She nearly got through but just couldn’t lever herself through the last bit.

“Rorge pull my arm again.”

“But it means looking.” He said.

“Just do it.” The man grinned at her as he opened his eyes and drank in her nakedness before taking hold of her arm. It only took a small tug to pull her through.

“How about a little kiss to celebrate.” Rorge went to engulf her naked body in his arms. Arya ducked low and slipped around him.

“Let’s just get on with it shall we.”

He directed her to the next one place she could get through. Biter was hopping from foot to foot, and Arya realised his eyes were wide open.

The next gap was more awkward as one side was the rough stone wall. Forcing her body into the gap Arya found it was wider in some places and narrower in others. Again she was very close but couldn’t quite get her hips through despite Rorge’s pushing.

“A little lubricant allows things to slip through a little easier.” Jaqen said. His voice still calm and his instructions still ambiguous.

It was Rorge who understood him this time. Before Arya could react, he’d hocked up some flem and spat it on her bare bottom.

“That’s disgusting.” She squealed as hand pulled her bottom back and spread his spittle across her bare cheeks. He added a second load for good measure and gave her buttocks a hard squeeze before shoving her back through.

After straining all she could, Arya felt herself slowly making it through until she burst through onto the other side.

She was free.

“Get the keys get the keys.” Rorge insisted pointing to the Jailers. Arya ran over to them and soon found the bunch of keys attached to the smallest jailer. She didn’t have to be careful as they both were in a deep drug-induced sleep. It crossed her mind to leave the others. After all, they were in the cells for a reason, and she didn’t need them.

“Don’t even think about leaving us, girl.” Rorge hissed as if reading her mind.

She ran back to the cells as far as she needed to and hurled the keys for Rorge to catch. Then she hauled the tunic off the smaller guard and climbed into it. It was still large but acted as a short skirt as well as a jacket. Taking the jailers knife, she hacked off the sleeves. While she could have gone to her dress for what she had to do next, she wanted to remain unencumbered.

“Halfway along the tunnel take the left turn then the next right.” She said as the others gathered outside the cages. “That will take you to the dragon room, and from there you will find the sewers.”

“Are you not coming with us lovely girl.” Jaqen said. The others already began to make their way passed Arya.

“I’ve got a Needle and sister to find.”

“Then perhaps we will meet again.” Jaqen lifted his hood covering his face once more. “Three lives are owed, and a debt will be repaid.” With that, he vanished into the gloom following the others.

Arya took a deep breath and headed back up to the castle.


	14. Maester Pycelle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps not one for the squeamish!!

Arya realised it must be late at night as there were few folks about to avoid and the torches were all lit. Whenever a guard appeared she melted into the shadows or squeezed herself into the many nooks and crannies, she knew existed in the castle. She’d already made her decision on what to do first. While she had a weapon in the guard's knife, she wanted to feel the more substantial Needle in her hand, and she had a good idea where that was.

A short time later Arya was listening outside Maester Pycelle’s chambers, and she heard giggling from within. She carefully opened the door, and peering round saw the Maester lying naked face down on his bead while a young woman was sat on his lower back giving him a massage. She looked around the room and saw Needle resting on a table among bottles and papers no doubt used for his work.

She stole inside and crept over the table, carefully retrieving her blade while the woman began bouncing up and down while beating the old man’s shoulder blades and telling him it would be good for his bad back.  Arya examined some of the other items on the table. There were two money pouches from the looks of it and various potions. A couple of which she could see were marked as poison.

Needle in hand Arya knew she could probably slip away unnoticed. But the beatings and groping at the old bastard’s hands were still fresh in her memory. She stepped over to the bed and placed the point of Needle against the side of Maester Pycelle head.

The Maester and the woman froze.

“Get out,” Arya commanded the woman.

“My money.” She stammered climbing off the naked body of the Maester and grabbed her clothes from the floor.

“Take what you want but say nothing or I’ll come after you.”

The Woman looked at Arya’s blade and nodded. She scooped up one of the bags of coins before scurrying out of the door.

“Now young Lady Stark there is no need for this.” Maester Pycelle said. “I’ll just get dressed, and we can talk about it.” He started to turn. Arya pressed the point into the top of his cheek near his eye. He stopped moving. In his half-turned state Arya could see his flaccid penis daggle down. She’d only ever seen her brothers when they were small.

She moved Needle, so the point was pressed into its soft flesh. Maester Pycelle was baring breathing

“You want to talk about you beating me with my own blade.”

“It was on orders from the Queen Regent herself. I was only doing my duty. And I tried to soothe you afterwards.”

“And I’m sure you gained no pleasure in that?” She pressed harder. Maester Pycelle collapsed onto his front. Arya whipped the blade clear.

“My dear I was only trying to help.”

“I’m sure you were.” Faced with his naked hairy bottom, Arya flipped Needle round in her hand and delivered the hardest blow she could. The Maester squealed, but Arya hit him again.

“Now my Lady you will only get yourself into trouble when the guards come.”

“You think I care about the guards.” The third blow added a nice red weal across his white buttocks.  With the fourth, she turned into a cross. “On your back.” With the point of Needle back at his face, the old man did as he was told and turned so he was lying painfully on his whipped buttocks.

“Lady Stark I must protest.”

“Like my father did.” She jabbed the point into his cheek.

“That wasn’t my doing. Please, my Lady, this will do you no good. You have lost your mind and need help. I have a potion here that will calm you.”

“The way you soothed my body,” Arya said. Then with one hand still holding Needle, she reached over with the other and cupped the old man’s balls. “Did it feel good touching me? Did you like rubbing between my legs?” Her hand moved to the small white cock which was stiffening to her touch. “Did you think about putting this inside me did you?”

“My Lady this is most inappropriate.” His breathing was becoming heavy, and Arya could see there was a mix of fear and lust on this face. Having heard some of the ladies in waiting talking about playing with men’s cocks, Arya was amazed at how it reacted to her touch. Soon the pathetic maggot that was between his legs poked upright almost above his belly. She held it with a tight grip.

“You would like to fuck me Maester Pycelle?”

He nodded, his whole body shook, and she felt it stiffen even more.

“Sorry Maester. Not today.” Arya took a step back and released his manhood before a deft flick of her sword hand saw Needle drive across the top of his belly. The blade skimmed the surface before slicing off the tip of his manhood.  It wasn’t so much a scream that emitted from the old man’s lips but a gargled cry of pain and horror as he looked down.

Needle then reversed its arc, and another chunk was removed before the blade struck his belly and bounced off.

Maester Pycelle moaned and cupped his groin. Stepping away Arya found a rag to wipe Needle clean before she slotted her blade in the belt of her tunic. Going to his table, she selected one of the bottles marked as poison and wrapped the rag around it before going back to the whimpering old man.

“Here take this for the pain.” Arya took the back of his head and placed the potion on his lips. Such was the Maester’s distress he meekly drank what was offered. It was only when Arya laughed, stepped back, and showed him the bottle that he realised what had happened.

His last few minutes of life were spent holding onto to what was left of his manhood.


End file.
